


I'll be Damned

by tesha198



Series: Death [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Angry Derek, BAMF Stiles, Bottom Stiles, Hurt Derek, M/M, Protective Derek, Resurrection, Stiles has a secret, Stiles keeps disappearing, Suspicious Pack, Top Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-30
Updated: 2015-05-22
Packaged: 2018-03-26 10:41:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 10
Words: 13,416
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3847897
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tesha198/pseuds/tesha198
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Stiles is dead. Derek had watched him die, ripped from the pack before their relationship could progress beyond the obvious tension they shared. Then, just as the pack is beginning to return to some small sense of normalcy, he reappears in Derek's loft as if he'd never been gone. But something is different, he's dark and secretive and everything about him puts the pack on edge. Suspicious, the pack follow him. But what they discover is far beyond anything they could have ever imagined, and when Derek tries to save him his own life is put in jeopardy. Can Stiles save the love of his life and what is he willing to sacrifice to do so?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Shattered Hearts, Ripped Apart

**Author's Note:**

> For the beginning of this story I'm not going to reveal too much about how Stiles came back or why, etc. So feel free to leave your predictions in the comments about what you think is going to happen, I'm intrigued to see what direction you'd like this to take! 
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

“On your left!” Scott bellowed, ducking out of the path of a bullet that would’ve otherwise hit him between the eyes.

Whirling around Isaac swiped his claws at one of their assailants who had crept up unnoticed.

Everyone was ducking bullets, dodging blades, and fighting for their lives, screaming instructions and warnings at each other when an attacker slipped through their defenses.

“Derek!” Lydia suddenly screamed, the sound piercing through the battle at a decibel only a banshee could achieve.

Derek spun around, body tensed as he prepared for whatever what about to hit him. It never did. Instead, as if in slow motion, Derek watched as Stiles leapt in front of the bullet, crumpling to the ground in a tangle of limbs. His white and blue plaid shirt slowly becoming stained a deep red as the bullet pierced his heart and his eyes faded into the dim, lifeless orbs of a corpse.

A bloodcurdling round of howls sounded through the preserve and the hunters they’d been facing took off, not wanting to fight a pack of wolves blinded by grief while the moon was still up. The pack let them go, too distracted by Stiles lying unmoving amongst the leaves on the forest floor to care if they escaped.

Derek’s eyes widened as it sank in what had happened. He fell to his knees, his face a mix of pain, sorrow and anger, each emotion battling for supremacy as he stared at the body of the only human that he’d ever accepted as an equal. In a futile and desperate attempt to save him he pressed the wound with his hands, but the blood was endless and all he accomplished was staining his skin crimson.

Behind him Derek could faintly hear Scott crying, screaming and wheezing in a pain so much deeper than any physical injury could inflict.

Derek fell forwards, his head resting on top of his hands, still trying to seal the wound despite it being too late. Scott fell to his knees in tears behind him, resting one hand on Derek’s back and another on Stiles face as he closed his best friends eyes.

“Derek.” Scott whispered, barely audible through the panting that came with his tears. “He’s gone.”

“No.” Derek whispered back, the tears finally beginning to well in his eyes. “No! It was supposed to be me!”

As if suddenly crazed, Derek bit into Stiles’ side, his wolf fangs sinking into the pale flesh and leaving puncture wounds that would never heal.

“Derek!” Scott barked, horrified with what he had just done.

He tried to pull Derek away from Stiles but all he got in response was a vicious growl and Derek clinging to Stiles’ body even more desperately than before.

“He’s gone.” Scott repeated, continuing to drag him away. “Derek, he’s gone.”

Stiles’ body flopped limply in Derek’s arms and it took Scott, Isaac, and Ethan to finally remove Stiles from Derek’s grip.

“Derek, he’s gone.”

 

* * *

 

The funeral was almost unbearable. The Sherriff looked lifeless, his eyes dark and bloodshot from the obvious crying he’d been doing. The pack wasn’t much better. Scott was a mess, going through bouts of tears followed by spurts of rage as he watched the coffin being lowered into the ground. Derek watched from a hill, out of sight of everyone in attendance, his face a cold mask of ferocity. He couldn’t attend the service, not with all the cops there, what with him being a fugitive.

It was a closed casket service, the sheriff not able to look at his dead son without having a breakdown.

Derek remained on the hill long after it ended, staring at the marred piece of land. A perfect rectangle without grass, as if a gruesome scar on an otherwise pristine garden. He couldn’t bring himself to get closer. The closer he got the realer it was, and it couldn’t be real. That plot of dirt couldn’t be Stiles. He couldn’t accept that he would never again see those amber eyes, never hear that trademark sarcasm or listen to those witty theories that were somehow always right. He couldn’t be dead.

He could hear the crunch of footsteps in the crisp grass as someone approached behind him, but he didn’t turn, unable to pull his eyes away from the grave.

“You alright?” Lydia’s voice murmured behind him, hoarse from screaming.

“I need him to be alive.” Derek mouthed, barely speaking.

“I know.” Lydia replied, her eyes slamming shut as tears began to fall. “We all do.”

A brief moment of silence passed between them in which Lydia fought for composure before continuing.

“But he’s not.” She exhaled, opening her eyes to glare at the fresh grave at the bottom of the hill. “He’s gone. And he’s not coming back.”


	2. Bitter Reunions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy!! Comment your thoughts.

Derek rolled his eyes, listening to Lydia bicker with Isaac and Malia as he drove. It was almost amusing how the two thought they stood a chance against the fiery redhead. He pulled up to his loft and parked the car, quickly getting out before he got dragged into their ridiculous banter.

The second he opened the car door he froze, his face twisting into a mix of confusion, panic and pain. He knew the other wolves could smell it too, hell even Lydia looked shaken though she didn’t have the same senses.

“Why does it smell like…?”

Before Isaac could finish his question Derek was off in a run, barreling up the stairs and through the heavy door to his loft. With every step the smell grew stronger, more real. Every logical part of him was screaming to stop, that this couldn’t be real. But every fiber of his being wanted it to be.

The second the loft door opened, slamming against the wall with a piercing echo, he was faced with a familiar set of amber eyes and his legs gave out beneath his weight.

“Derek?” Lydia called confusedly from the hall, following him into the loft.

The second she saw him she froze, her eyebrows knitting together in astonished yet pained relief.

“Stiles?” she exhaled, as if afraid to say the name lest he disappear before their eyes.

“Hey.” Stiles replied, waving awkwardly at them with a guilty look on his face.

What felt like an eternity passed in disbelieving silence, the wolves staring agape at the dead man standing in their pack-mate’s home, until finally Lydia pursed her lips and spoke.

“What in the holy hell, Stiles.” She bit, narrowing her eyes at him. “You literally die in front of our eyes then show up nine weeks later and the only thing you have to say is ‘Hey’?”

“Hey… guys?” Stiles grimaced, his usually sarcasm seeping through despite his best efforts to curb it.

“What happened?” Lydia demanded, folding her arms across her chest and quickly glancing at Derek as he pulled himself off the floor. “How are you here?”

“Dunno.” Stiles shrugged, turning and walking to the kitchen as if to say he was done with this conversation. “Got any chips? I’m starving!”

“Something’s off about him…” Isaac whispered so only the wolves could hear. “He smells different.”

The pack followed him to kitchen where Stiles was rummaging through Derek’s cabinets in search of food.

“We’re going to need a little more of an explanation.” Lydia huffed, refusing to take her piercing glare off of her somehow resurrected friend.

“I don’t have one to give.” Stiles returned, moving to another cabinet without turning to look at her. “I suppose I could make something up. I like to think a radioactive spider bit me and it instilled me with new life. No superpowers yet, but I’ll keep you posted.”

“Still with the sarcasm.” Isaac sighed, rolling his eyes and leaving the kitchen to fall into an oversized armchair.

“What can I say, don’t fix what ain’t broke.” Stiles grinned, finally turning to face them with a mouthful of chips as he breezed past the wolves to spread out on the couch.

“We need to tell Scott.” Derek whispered, finally finding his voice but never drawing his eyes away from Stiles.

“He’ll be here in a few minutes for the meeting.” Lydia replied. “I think it’s better if he sees this for himself.”

 

* * *

 

 

When Scott entered the loft he took a few steps and petered to a stop, glancing around concernedly.

“Why does everyone look like they’ve seen a…”

“Hey, Scotty.” Stiles sat up from his spot lounging on the couch where he’d been hidden from Scott’s view.

“Stiles?” Scott asked, his eyes opening wide in shock before his brows knitted together and his mouth pulled down at the corners.

In an instant it was if a damn had burst and Scott was hyperventilating, his eyes so filled with tears he couldn’t see two feet in front of him. Strangled pained noises erupted from his throat as he ran forwards, toppling over the back of the couch Stiles was still mostly shielded by, until his arms were around his friend in a tight embrace.

“I thought I’d never see you again.” Scott sobbed, his tears staining Stiles shirt and his chest heaving almost uncontrollably.

“I couldn’t leave without saying goodbye.” Stiles smiled, his eyes glistening with tears of his own as he stroked Scott’s shaggy hair.

The room stayed like that for a long time, with Scott messily draped over Stiles on the couch, crying into his shoulder and scenting him in an almost crazed way. Stiles just hugged the trembling Alpha, his eyes closing in an attempt to push away his tears.

“I missed you.” Stiles exhaled, his voice trembling with barely contained emotion.

“How are you here?” Scott asked, finally sitting up just enough to look Stiles in the eye but never releasing him from the hug.

“That’s what we’d all like to know.” Malia growled, breaking their reunion.

“Malia.” Lydia whispered harshly, desperately trying to get her to approach the question with more tact.

“What? We’re all thinking it.” Malia snarled back, turning to glare suspiciously at Stiles. “He doesn’t smell right. He smells… cold. He’s different.”

As if realizing for the first time, Scott inhaled Stiles scent deeply and frowned, torn between pressing for answers and simply basking in the fact his best friend was alive,

“Well?” Malia pressed, taking a step closer to Stiles and making Scott jump off the couch and crouch between them, teeth bared and eyes flashing red.

“It’s okay Scott.” Stiles reassured him, resting his hand on the Alpha’s shoulder as he spoke directly to Malia. “I don’t know how or why I’m back. All I know is I’m here and I don’t want to start questioning why.”

The wolves all stared at him, unsure whether or not to accept his resurrection with no explanation.

“His heartbeat didn’t spike.” Scott announced firmly, squaring his shoulders and allowing his wolf to receded back into him. “He’s telling the truth.”


	3. Missing

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoy and let me know your thoughts!

“Get up.” Scott grinned, tossing a shirt at Stiles and watching as it smacked him in the face.

“Why?” Stiles frowned, not moving to leave his spot on Derek’s couch.

It had been two days since his return, during which he had been interrogated by the pack, poked and prodded by Deaton, and watched with thinly veiled suspicion from everyone he knew. It was becoming harder and harder to feign happiness at being resurrected when each waking moment was filled with suspicion and contempt.

He still hadn’t told his father he was alive, and frankly he wasn’t sure if he ever would. The man had been through hell with his death and was just beginning to get his life back in order. Sure he was filling the gap left by Stiles’ death with work, but he was also growing closer with Melissa and beginning to smile again. The last thing Stiles wanted was to ruin his father’s closure and prevent him moving on.

Keeping his resurrection secret, however, meant he was essentially homeless. He couldn’t stay at Scott’s house or his mom would discover he was alive which would inevitably lead to his dad making the same discovery. Ergo, he’d taken up permanent residence on Derek’s couch and had no immediate plans to leave the loft.

“You literally came back from the dead.” Scott grinned widely. “This calls for a celebration.”

“No offense but I’m not really in a celebratory mood.” Stiles frowned, tossing the shirt back at Scott.

“You’ve been holed up in Derek’s loft for two days.” Scott sighed, setting his lips into a hard line of disapproval. “You need to get out and do something.”

“I will.” Stiles returned, narrowing his eyes at the ceiling as he lay back down on the couch. “Just not now.”

“Come on, the entire pack is waiting for you downstairs.” Scott whined. “You can’t keep blowing us off.”

“Has it ever occurred to you I’m not ready to face my old life?” Stiles ground out, refusing to look at his friend. “You’re right Scott, I literally came back from the dead. That doesn’t mean I’m ready to face life.”

Scott exhaled audibly and ran his hand through his hair.

“You know where to find us.” He finally sighed, turning to leave the loft.

 

* * *

 

 

“Seriously he’s not coming?” Lydia snipped, her brow furrowing in irritation.

The pack was standing in the parking lot outside Derek’s loft. The sun was just beginning to set and across town the Jungle was just beginning to flood with people. The pack was chomping at the bit to head to the club and was clearly more than a little irritated by Stiles absence.

“He has been through a lot.” Scott tried to reason, though his face was just as frustrated as the rest of the packs’. “He says he’s not ready to go out yet.”

“Bullshit.” Malia bit with a scowl. “I saw him out yesterday.”

“What?” Scott asked, completely stunned.

“He was walking around town yesterday.” Malia continued, anger clear on her face. “When I approached him he said he was heading for your place.”

Scott frowned, a mixture of irritation and confusion on his face.

“He can’t go to my place. He does and everyone knows he’s back. Including his dad.” Scott explained, as if reassuring himself of this.

“So where did he go?” Lydia interjected, glancing between Malia and Scott.

“Let’s find out.” Malia growled, taking off into Derek’s building before anyone could stop her.

The pack hurried after her, Scott hollering for her to stop as she tore upstairs so fast she actually skipped steps as she ran. She threw open the door to the loft, not caring when the door slammed against the wall, and stormed inside, her eyes glowing blue as her coyote leapt forwards to hunt.

The pack reached the loft mere moments behind her, Scott practically falling through the door as he clumsily tried to catch up to Malia.

“He’s not here.” Malia growled before Scott could chastise her for not listening.

“He has to be.” Scott reasoned, glancing around the apartment and subtly sniffing the air. “I just left him up here. He couldn’t have left without us seeing.”

“Well he’s not.” Malia growled more fiercely, an irritated scowl settling across her features.

“So he disappeared for several hours yesterday where no one knew what he was doing and now he vanishes from the loft?” Isaac voiced, his voice holding all the suspicion that was practically palpable in the air.

“I knew something wasn’t right about him.” Malia growled, clearly insanely aggravated he had managed to evade her.

“Where is Derek?” Scott asked, glancing at Isaac who simply shrugged in response.

“At Deaton’s.” Lydia offered, pursing her lips at Isaac for not paying better attention. “He’s been spending a lot of time there since Stiles’ return. He still wants answers.”

“Explains why he didn’t notice supposed-to-be-dead Stiles sneaking out everyday.” Isaac mumbled, glancing around the apartment uninterestedly with his hands tucked into his pockets.

“Call him.” Scott instructed, pointing at Isaac who sighed heavily but took out his phone and began to dial.

 

* * *

 

 

“Where were you?” Derek demanded when Stiles inexplicably traipsed down from upstairs as if he’d been there the entire time.

“Upstairs?” Stiles answered with his usual sarcasm, gesturing to the staircase he’d just descended with an expression that labeled Derek absolutely insane.

“Cut the crap.” Derek snarled, moving to take a step towards Stiles whose eyes narrowed ever so slightly in response to the sudden approach.

Scott placed a hand firmly on Derek’s shoulder, halting him before he could get too close to his best friend. Derek froze under his Alpha’s grip but maintained his glare with Stiles, noting the dark undercurrents in Stiles’ glower that were so subtle they were almost invisible.

“Stiles we looked upstairs.” Scott tried to calmly explain, eyeing his friend with a mix of confusion and concern. “You weren’t there.”

“You literally just watched me walk down the stairs.” Stiles frowned, his brows knitting together in irritation. “Do I look like I’ve suddenly sprouted wings? This loft is not exactly on the ground floor.”

Scott frowned, not really sure how to respond. On the one hand it did seem impossible for Stiles to have flown upstairs instead of use the front door like the human he was. On the other hand, the pack had searched the loft vigorously and there was no way they missed Stiles lounging upstairs when they did. There was no logical explanation for his sudden reappearance in the loft, and once again his heartbeat wasn’t stuttering to signal a lie. Something wasn’t adding up.

“I want curly fries.” Stiles sighed, changing the subject abruptly in the face of the heavy silence filling the room. “Lydia. You want to go to the diner?”

“Are you kidding? You just came back there’s no way we’re letting you-“ Isaac began to spit only to be silenced by a sharp glare from Lydia.

“Curly fries sound good.” Lydia smiled with a slight nod. “Grab a hoodie so you wont be recognized by accident.”

A wide grin spread across Stiles face, as if excited by the prospect of getting to leave the loft despite the pack knowing he’d been gone all day. Before anyone could recant on Lydia’s offer, Stiles was bolting up the stairs so fast he was skipping some in his haste to grab a hoodie.

“Are you crazy?” Derek demanded in a harsh whisper, glowering at Lydia only when Stiles was completely out of sight.

“He’s not going to tell us anything.” Lydia chirped, crossing her arms and fixing Derek with a terrifying glare. “We all know he was out today. Let me see if I can get him to tell me why. Or how for that matter.”

“I don’t know if that’s such a good-“ Scott began to question, only to fall to silence at the loud clomping of Stiles racing back down the stairs.

“Let’s go!” Stiles grinned, practically vibrating with energy.

Lydia smirked amusedly, the sharpness of suspicion never leaving her eyes despite the warm expression plastered on her face. With that, Stiles led Lydia out of the loft and Lydia shot a murderous look over her shoulder at the wolves, daring any of them to try and stop her. None did.


	4. A Midnight Brawl

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter to come soon!

“So are you going to tell me where you really were today?” Lydia asked, watching as Stiles flicked curly fries into his mouth as if he’d been starved, which given he’d been dead not long ago wasn’t a far cry from the truth.

“What do you mean?” Stiles asked, not bothering to look up from the plate of fries. “I was upstairs.”

“Stiles.” Lydia frowned, pulling the plate of fries towards her and away from Stiles, earning a vicious glare from him. “I’m not naïve like Scott and I’m not oblivious like Derek. I know you weren’t upstairs.”

Stiles said nothing, simply grabbed the plate of curly fries back from her defiantly with a hardened expression. He continued shoveling the fries into his mouth, periodically glancing behind the counter of the diner distractedly and barely acknowledging the increasingly annoyed redhead sitting across from him.

“Would you focus?” Lydia snapped angrily, slamming her hand down on their table. “What are you looking at?”

She turned to follow Stiles’ gaze across the diner and fell silent, her brows knitting together in sudden horror. Stiles arched his brow at her expression, a knowing smirk playing at his lips as he watched her eyes widen in realization.

“Something’s wrong.” Lydia muttered, her eyes never leaving the woman behind the counter who had caught her attention.

A few seconds passed that felt more like an eternity, Lydia’s eyes trained on the woman as her expression went from realization to fear to panic in a fluid sweep of emotions. A ringing sounded in her ears, drowning out all other sounds in the diner and making her cringe before a thousand hushed voices began whispering all at once, growing louder and louder until Lydia was sure her head would explode from the pressure. Then, all too suddenly everything fell into utter, deafening silence as the woman behind the counter clutched her chest, her eyes widening as her breathing stuttered and she collapsed.

“No.” Lydia whispered, desperately trying to resist the urge to scream in a public place, her efforts almost painful as the woman took her last breath and died right before her eyes.

She snapped her head back to Stiles, using every ounce of her willpower to tear her eyes away from the body and the panic it was causing the other customers, only to find his seat empty. Panicked, she glanced around the diner in search of him, taking an inventory of every face and searching for the dark red hoodie he’d worn to mask his identity.

“Stiles?” She called, standing up from the booth when she couldn’t find him.

A few moments with no answer and her spinning her head around in search of him so quickly she thought she might get whiplash, and her panic was rising to a dangerous level.

“Stiles!” She called, louder and more frantically than before.

“Yeah?” He answered, appearing beside her so suddenly she jumped in surprise.

“Where were you?” She demanded, her eyes darting between him and the lifeless body of the woman behind the counter who was now being surrounded by other staff and customers looking to help.

“Bathroom.” Stiles shrugged, as if unaware the entire restaurant had just watched someone die. “What’d I miss?”

Lydia fixed him with a disbelieving stare before narrowing her eyes and pursing her lips. Stiles simply stared back at her, an innocent expression of genuine obliviousness that made Lydia grind her teeth. Just below the surface she could see his deception, the glint of a harshness in his gaze as his eyes flitted to the woman dead across the diner before settling back on Lydia.

“Should we do something to help?” Stiles asked, his tone implying he knew the answer before she spoke it.

“There’s nothing we can do. She’s dead.” Lydia ground out, glancing at the woman for a final time before turning and storming out of the diner.

Stiles followed her out, staying a few feet behind her with his hood pulled up and head down to avoid being noticed by anyone as they left.

 

* * *

 

 

“We need to follow him.” Lydia insisted, her eyes housing a dangerous fury as she glanced around at the other pack members.

“Really?” Scott winced, clearly uncomfortable at the thought of invading his best friend’s privacy.

“Yes, Scott. Really.” Lydia snipped harshly, narrowing her eyes at him. “He’s hiding something. I’ve spent the last three days with him and he’s behaving strangely.”

“It’s Stiles.” Isaac arched a brow. “How could you tell?”

Lydia fixed him with a piercing glare that immediately silenced his sarcasm before continuing her explanation.

“First a woman had a heart attack in the diner. Then a car hit someone right in front of us. And today a display fell on someone in the video game store.” Lydia snarled, clearly at the end of her rope. “All places Stiles wanted to go, and all places he suddenly vanished just as someone died.”

“So you’re saying Stiles is what?” Scott returned incredulously. “Some sort of axe murderer?”

“Of course not!” Lydia huffed, a deep frown settling over her face. “It’s just too much of a coincidence and every time he comes back with some ridiculous excuse. Like the bathroom or he saw a movie poster he wanted to get a closer look at.”

“And using the bathroom and a poster warrant us following him?” Scott arched a brow, clearly unconvinced.

“We all know he’s disappearing.” Lydia threw back. “Either we follow him and find out why or I personally guarantee you won’t see your girlfriend in the foreseeable future.”

Scott paled, clearly believing Lydia would stay true to her word and not wanting to feel the extent of her wrath. Reluctantly, he nodded and they began forming a plan for tailing their friend the next time he slipped out.

 

* * *

 

 

The pack watched from the shadows, slowly trailing behind Stiles from a safe distance. They’d been following him for about fifteen minutes, Lydia leading the charge and Scott squirming uncomfortably as he allowed her to do so.

Derek had remained silent for most of the debate as to whether or not Stiles should be tailed, but didn’t seem to object to the idea given he was currently taking part.

They watched as Stiles nonchalantly strolled through town, the hood of his hoodie pulled up as he had become accustomed to doing. Every so often he would pause and look up, gazing at the night sky as if contemplating something far beyond anyone else’s comprehension. His hands were stuffed into his hoodie pockets and he walked with a grace none thought him capable of, never bumping into a passerby despite the numerous ones who seemed to walk straight for him.

After a few more minutes of lazily sauntering through town, illuminated by the dim glow of the streetlights and the small sliver of moon in the sky, he seemed to snap to attention. His entire body went rigid and his face set into a cold mask of determination as he suddenly went from a slow stroll to a brisk jog.

The pack raced after him, completely caught off guard by his sudden inexplicable urgency and slightly anxious when he ducked around a corner into a dark alleyway. They stopped just short of the alley, huddling against the wall and subtly peering around the corner to get a better view of him.

Stiles leaned against a wall, hood pulled low over his face, standing absolutely still. The pack glanced around at each other, completely confused by his erratic behavior. He’d gone from a lazy walk to a sudden and fast paced jog to a sudden stop with no explanation.

“He’s not doing anything.” Malia growled, exhaling in frustration and impatience. “We followed him across town to watch him stare at a wall.”

“Shh.” Lydia snapped, shushing her before returning her attention to the still frozen Stiles who was simply staring at a door across from where he was leaning.

Malia opened her mouth to retort only to be cut off by the large metal door in front of Stiles opening with a deafening bang and four men tumbling out in a loud clamor of demands and swearing.

Stiles didn’t even flinch, simply watched silent and unmoving as two of the men held another down while the fourth beat him within an inch of his life. None of the men seemed to notice Stiles’ presence despite his close proximity mere feet away, and Stiles appeared almost bored by their violent display.

Derek stepped forward, ready to go and drag Stiles away from whatever was happening, when the man doing the beating suddenly pulled a knife and Derek’s eyes flashed in a protective surge. In an instant the man being beaten was on the ground, clutching his torso now littered with stab wounds as if he could somehow stop the overwhelming amount of blood seeping from his body and onto the pavement. The man gurgled, his breath hitching in his chest and sounding wet as small drops of blood spurted from his mouth.

Finally, after what seemed like an eternity of leaning unfazed against the alley wall, Stiles stepped forwards to loom over the injured man with a cold, detached look of exasperation.


	5. Really Dead

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> More really soon. This is where things start to get interesting!

“Shouldn’t we be doing something?” Isaac asked, glancing around at the stunned faces of the rest of the pack.

Time seemed to have frozen. The pack was simply standing, hidden just out of sight, gaping at Stiles as he stared at the man bleeding at his feet. He looked unconcerned by the man’s injuries and the gurgling of blood now pooling in his mouth. In fact by all appearances, Stiles actually seemed bored.

He made no move to stop the three assailants as they fled the alley from the opposite end of where the pack was hiding, as if having just witnessed a gruesome stabbing was no reason for concern. The men still seemed oblivious to Stiles’ presence so close to them and despite his clearly having seen their faces, left without so much as a threat to keep quiet.

The pack was confused and concerned and, frankly, immobile. They stood in a tight cluster, watching Stiles intently as the bleeding man’s breathing grew more and more strained, as if even so much as blinking would provide him an opportunity to disappear.

“His… his heart stopped.” Isaac voiced, his voice quiet and meek and clearly uncomfortable.

His words seemed to snap the pack out of their frozen trans and they all blinked a few times, their faces contorting into frustration as they strained their ears in search of any heartbeat that would prove Isaac wrong. There was none.

Over the man’s lifeless body Stiles rolled up his sleeve, revealing a tattoo on his inner forearm. The dark of night made it difficult to make out clearly from a distance given it’d been done in black ink. Still, the pack only had to squint for a brief moment, trying to decipher what the image was, before the ink leapt from the flesh of Stiles’ arm. Everyone’s eyes collectively widened in stunned silence as Stiles is suddenly standing over the body with an oversized scythe clutched in his hands.

He raised the scythe above his head and Derek growled, low and aggressive as if the sound could somehow stop what was about to happen. A palpable tension hung in the air as Stiles brought the scythe down on the body at his feet and the pack visibly flinched at the impact. A large, clearly visible, gash marred the man’s torso, an open wound that is slowly beginning to bleed the last of the man’s blood from his body. A few seconds passed in which nothing happened save for Stiles standing over the body with the scythe at his side, like a flag he was using to claim the dead man. Finally, a strange mist rose from the wound, swirling above the body before settling into the vague outline of a man. Stiles and the strange entity conversed for a brief moment, and every pack member’s face contorted in frustration as they found they couldn’t hear what was being said despite their enhanced abilities.

When Stiles finished speaking, a large black mass began leaking out from him like a pool of ink slowly emerging from his body and filling the air. The mass encased both Stiles and the mist-like man standing before him, as if a dark, unsettling shadow had emerged from within Stiles and wrapped them in a cloak of darkness. Then, they’re gone. Vanished into thin air before the pack’s very eyes.

Derek is the first to regain mobility, his shock quickly receding into concern at Stiles disappearance. The pack is quick on his heels, frantically spinning around in the middle of the alley as if expecting Stiles to simply be standing in a different spot nearby. He’s not. Stiles is no where to be found and the only proof of anything they’d just witnessed having happened is a body laying lifeless on the ground in a pool of blood.

Derek stared down at it, his nostrils flaring and eyes narrowing upon finding the gash Stiles had inflicted gone. The man’s torso is perfectly in tact save for the knife wounds that had killed him. There is no large open wound from a scythe, no fresh blood patterns or ripped clothing to indicate a wound larger than a handheld knife had been used.

Sirens rang shrilly in the air and Derek sighed, recognizing their missed opportunity to flee a crime scene. Within minutes the entire pack was separated by various officers and being separately questioned concerning the dead body they claimed to have accidently stumbled upon.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek and the others stumble into the loft, exhausted and sighing breaths of relief as they collapse onto various couches and chairs. By the time they’d been released from custody it had been early in the morning and everyone was at the end of their rope. They’d spent hours upon hours being individually questioned about the murder, the police desperately trying to pinpoint any inaccuracies among their stories. It had taken a furious Melissa and an insistent Sheriff Stilinski before they were finally free to go – albeit told very sternly not to leave town. As if there was anywhere a bunch of high school students would suddenly relocate to.

“Where have you guys been?” Stiles’ voice cut into the collective exhausted brooding of everyone as he emerged from the kitchen.

Suddenly, everyone was very awake and very suspicious as they eyed him with a combination of distrust and curiosity.

“What?” Stiles asked, frowning at the odd looks he was receiving.

“What the hell was that?” Malia demanded in an accusatory snarl.

Stiles blinked, his brows knitting together in seemingly genuine confusion before he glanced around to the rest of the pack for answers.

“Where were you last night?” Lydia asked, a sharp firmness in her question.

“Bed?” Stiles answered, as if the question were completely asinine.

“Really?” Isaac cut in, mock astonishment in his voice. “Do you always sleep in alleys?”

Stiles eyes flashed with surprise before he banished it so quickly it was almost unrecognizable under his cool mask.

“We saw you cut someone with a scythe and disappear into a black… thing.” Scott frowned, his lips pursing slightly as he tried and failed to label the black mass that had oozed out from Stiles’ body.

“Let me get this straight.” Stiles returned, his face settling into disbelief. “You think I stabbed a stranger with a farm tool and then… what? Teleported away? Are you on drugs?”

“Cut the crap.” Derek huffed, fixing Stiles with a fierce glare that Stiles tried to fluff off with an arched brow before glaring fiercely in return.

“I really don’t know what you’re talking about.” Stiles ground out, never breaking his glare with Derek that had somehow become a battle for supremacy.

“Either you tell us the truth or we tell your dad you’re alive.” Derek threatened, narrowing his eyes daringly.

Stiles’ brows rose and before anyone could process what was happening his frown was twitching into a smile and he was laughing so hard he had tears in his eyes.

“You think I’m joking?” Derek demanded in a rough growl.

“Nope.” Stiles returned, his hearty laugh tapering into a mild chuckle as he wiped the tears from his eyes. “That’s what’s so funny.”

A moment of silence went by in which Stiles finished drying his eyes and his laughter tapered off completely, replaced with narrowed eyes and a taught jaw.

“You can tell him that.” Stiles ground out, face returned to his cold mask.

In one instant he was standing in front of the pack, clearly visible in his deep red hoodie, and in the next he was gone. The pack blinked, startled by his sudden disappearing act before their eyes began to flit around the room in search of him.

A few moments passed in silent, confused searching before Stiles suddenly reappeared on the couch next to Derek, leaning nonchalantly on the armrest with an arched brow and fearless eyes.

“But you’d be lying.” He finished his sentence before once again disappearing and reappearing where he’d been originally standing.

No flash of light, no puff of smoke, just a sudden and unpredictable vanishing that left the pack squirming in confused discomfort.

“I really died. And I’m still dead.” Stiles bit with a dark grin that filled the silence with unanswered questions.


	6. A Deal for Eternity

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“You’re not dead.” Scott insisted, as if denying it for his own benefit rather than Stiles’.

“Believe what you want.” Stiles shrugged, already sick of the useless conversation. “It won’t change anything either way.”

Scott opened his mouth as if to continue his adamant denial of the entire situation, only to be silenced by Lydia cutting him off with her usual inquisitiveness.

“How are you here if you’re dead?” She demanded, eyeing him as if she fully anticipated he would suddenly decompose or become transparent or something.

“I’m employed.” Stiles crossed his arms with another shrug.

“Really with the sarcasm?” Isaac huffed, rolling his eyes.

“Explain.” Lydia pressed, narrowing her eyes burning with questions.

“It’s a long story.” Stiles ground out with a frown, clearly not wanting to have to recount everything.

“Nice try.” Lydia rolled her eyes, pointing at the sofa in a silent order for Stiles to take a seat as no one was going anywhere until she heard what she was looking for.

Stiles begrudgingly sank into the sofa and the rest of the pack adjusted to face him with rapt attention.

“What happened after you died?” Lydia asked, beginning with an open-ended question in hopes he would fill in the rest as he began his explanation.

“When I took the bullet meant for Derek, I interfered with the natural order of death.” Stiles sighed, putting air quotes around the end as if he thought the entire concept utterly ridiculous. “Derek was supposed to die not me.”

“So?” Malia demanded with an arched brow.

“So, I got punished for upsetting the balance. I have to collect souls for Death.” Stiles bit back, irritated with Malia’s interruption in a story he didn’t want to be telling in the first place.

“So you’re what? A reaper?” Lydia asked incredulously.

“A reaper. A Shinigami. Call it what you want, I’m dead and have to collect souls for the rest of time.” Stiles shrugged, as if belonging to Death was not a big deal. “Besides, it shouldn’t be such a shock. You’re a banshee, you’re a coyote, and the rest are werewolves. I’ve just joined team supernatural.”

“Still doesn’t explain how you kept sneaking out without detection.” Malia growled, clearly not prepared to let it go when it had hurt her pride as a tracker.

“I’m dead.” Stiles shrugged as if that alone should explain everything perfectly. When everyone looked at him in search of a more understandable explanation he sighed and continued. “No one can see me unless I let them or they’re dying. Random people on the street can’t see me when I’m out and I just make it so you can’t see me temporarily when I sneak away.”

Malia frowned, clearly not liking the idea but accepting it as an answer.

“So when you’ve been sneaking out you’ve been collecting souls?” Isaac asked.

Stiles nodded, glancing around to gauge everyone’s reactions.

“I collect souls and escort them to the other side.” Stiles answered, no hint of remorse or unhappiness in his voice.

“Why would you agree to this?” Scott asked, his brows pulled together in upset accusation.

“Did you miss the punishment part?” Stiles rolled his eyes with a sarcastic chuckle. “Besides, I made a deal.”

The entire pack froze at his words, a heavy tension settling over them as they glanced at one another in silent apprehension.

“Stiles. What did you do?” Lydia asked, eyeing him with anxious suspicion.

“When I died I was brought before Death. I took Derek’s death so it was only fair Derek got my life. I gave him what were supposed to be my remaining years. Derek will live a long life in my place.” Stiles shrugged, as if it were only logical. “It’s not a big deal.”

“I never asked for that!” Derek snarled angrily, his face contorting into an expression of pure fury.

“Yeah how shitty of me!” Stiles threw back just as angrily at Derek’s reaction. “How dare I guarantee your safety? It’s not like I could’ve used my life! I was already dead!”

“I never asked you to take that bullet in the first place!” Derek barked back, leaping to his feet as his wolf threatened to surface in the face of his extreme anger.

“My mistake you ungrateful prick!” Stiles returned, his hands balling into fists. “Next time I’ll take a moment and ask your permission before I save your life! But right now there’s no going back, I can’t die so I’m doing this forever!”

Derek snarled, his muscles rippling as his wolf fought for control, and stormed out of the loft.

“Where are you going?” Scott called after him.

“Deaton’s!” Derek snarled back, slamming the loft door behind him.

 

* * *

 

 

The pack, minus Lydia, were all scattered around Deaton’s clinic. After Derek had shown up on Deaton’s doorstep in a fit of rage, Deaton had agreed to allow the pack use of his various tomes and books for research. An agreement he was quickly coming to regret, as Derek was hell bent on fixing what Stiles had done and had taken up permanent residency with most of the pack in his clinic.

The clinic had become filled with tomes and books strewn around, laying open to various pages with the slightest reference of death. Customers were literally beginning to have to climb over both research and wolves in order to drop off or pick up their pets.

“Derek.” Deaton sighed, inhaling deeply as he stubbed his toes on an oversized hardcover tome. “Perhaps you should take a break.”

“No.” Derek returned shortly. “One of these books has an answer.”

Deaton sighed and walked away to do work elsewhere in the clinic, not wanting to argue with Derek in his current frame of mind.

 

* * *

 

“So I have a connection to the other side?” Lydia repeated, watching as Stiles stuffed his face with curly fries. “How are you eating when you’re dead?”

“Don’t know exactly but I’m not complaining. I don’t think I could survive an eternity without curly fries.” Stiles smirked, popping another one in his mouth. “And yes you do. You’re literally a homing beacon for death. How would you accomplish that without a connection to the other side?”

“I don’t know? Intuition?” Lydia offered with a frown.

“Not quite.” Stiles chuckled, clapping his hands together to get the salt off his fingers. “The sounds you hear are actually voices of people on the other side.”

“Well they mumble a lot.” Lydia huffed, her lips pursing in annoyance.

“You just need to hone your abilities.” Stiles replied, throwing some bills onto the counter and getting up to leave with Lydia in tow.

“Would going to the other side help? Talking to the voices directly?” Lydia asked, following Stiles outside and across the street.

“Maybe, but you cant.” Stiles replied, stopping on the other side of the street to give her a firm look. “The other side is for the dead not the living. You’re attuned to it but you can’t visit. It’s not a vacation destination.”

“So how do I get better at hearing these voices?” Lydia asked, folding her arms and narrowing her eyes stubbornly at Stiles.

“Practice.” Stiles shrugged. “Someone in the town is about to die.”

“So?” Lydia shrugged back.

“So you’re going to help me find them.” Stiles grinned. “When someone dies, their soul gets taken to the other side. So when someone is about to die, the souls already on the other side know exactly who and where. It’s like a connection between the planes of living and dead and the person dying is the bridge.”

“Okay?” Lydia nodded, unsure of where he was going.

“So your problem is you’re letting every single person on the other side shout directions at you at once. That’s like trying to pinpoint a single voice in a screaming stadium. It’s not going to work.” Stiles offered, glancing around to make sure no one was eavesdropping on their conversation. “You need to take control. That’s what your scream does, it cuts through the noise and puts you in charge. But you don’t always need the scream; it just helps you focus your abilities when you’re overwhelmed. Close your eyes, you can hear them and they can hear you. Tell them exactly what you want and be firm.”

Lydia sighed and closed her eyes, lightly at first before scrunching them tight as the voices began to grow louder.

“Don’t let them push you around. They’re dead, they can’t hurt you.” Stiles reminded her.

Lydia exhaled deeply, her brows knitting together in stubborn persistence. She focused, thinking of exactly what she wanted and only allowing a few of the voices to penetrate her mind at a time, like holding a funnel under a tap. A few minutes passed before her eyes snapped open and a grin slowly spread across her face.

“I know where a dead body is.” Lydia grinned proudly.

“Good. But not so loud, people might think you murdered someone.” He chuckled before gesturing for her to lead the way.

“So this is our thing now? I sense when someone’s about to die and you collect their soul?” Lydia asked as they walked towards her car and climbed in.

Stiles sighed, missing his jeep profusely despite his best intentions to let it go.

“Yep.” Stiles nodded, buckling his seatbelt despite not being able to die even in the worst of accidents. Habits are a hard thing to kick.


	7. Chilled Kiss

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! Hope you enjoy and don't forget to comment.

Derek snarled, his eyes flashing blue periodically as he stormed around the loft, the other wolves jumping out of his path when he neared them. Deaton had finally forced them out of his clinic when a customer had tripped on a sleeping Isaac directly in front of the entrance, they’d managed to scoop up a few pieces of their research but most of the books were still at Deaton’s.

“We haven’t found anything helpful.” Scott sighed, making Derek’s snarling worsen.

“We need Lydia.” Isaac huffed, watching Derek pace. “Or Stiles. They’re the ones who do the research.”

“They’re too busy bonding over death.” Derek growled as if the words left a bad taste in his mouth.

“They _have_ become very Bonnie and Clyde like over the past couple of days.” Scott exhaled under his breath, just loud enough for Derek to hear and snarl again.

“We need answers!” Derek growled, his eyes flashing blue again. “Maybe we missed something in one of the tomes.”

“You didn’t.” Stiles sighed, entering the room with Lydia and rolling his eyes. “Just let it go.”

“At least I’m trying to fix things! All you’re doing is murdering people for Death!” Derek snarled, pointing accusingly at Stiles who exhaled deeply to remain calm and flexed his jaw in anger.

“Seriously Derek, what is your problem? If you have something to say to me just say it!” Stiles shouted furiously, not even bothering to retort he hadn’t murdered anyone simply ferried souls who’d already passed.

“You’re dead!” Derek threw back with a snarl and clenched fists. “And that’s on me! I’m going to fix it!”

“You’re being ridiculous.” Stiles sighed, his face settling into the usual blank expression he’d adopted since his resurrection. “I make my own decisions. You didn’t force me into anything, I chose this. And for the record, death is just a label. You can’t possibly hope to understand death when you’re alive.”

Derek said nothing, simply listened with a hard expression that clearly displayed his frustration.

“I can see when everyone will die. Like a clock each person wears, clear as day. But you seem to mistakenly think it counts down to oblivion, when it really counts down to a transition. Death is another place not an ending. There’s a greater scheme at play than simply what you see, a balance that exists in everything. Why can’t you just accept my choice? I’m not gone. I’m standing right in front of you. Does the rest really matter?”

Derek’s jaw visibly clenched before he exhaled and spoke in a dark tone filled with anger and pain.

“Yes, Stiles, it matters.” Derek replied darkly. “You’re dead and it’s my fault. Of course it matters! You expect me to just blindly accept that you sacrificed your life for mine? Especially when you won’t even tell us what happened to you on the other side! You’re not yourself anymore! You don’t have the same wild energy or smile. Even your sarcasm has a dark undertone now. Of course that matters!”

Everyone in the loft seemed to hold their breath, the only movement breaking the paralyzing stillness the darting of eyes between Derek and Stiles.

“All you need to know is that someone dies and I take them to the other side. Anything that happens after that is none of your concern. It goes against the balance for the living to know of Death.” Stiles returned, completely calm and stone faced despite the vulnerability evident in Derek’s words.

“You think I care about the balance?” Derek growled, a frustrated rumble that rolled out of him like thunder. “The _balance_ caused all this in the first place. The fact is you might be here, but you’re still dead.”

A heavy silence fell over the room as Stiles and Derek stared at each other for a long moment before Stiles cold mask cracked and his brows knitted together in a pained expression filled with regret.

“I shouldn’t have done this.” Stiles mumbled, tearing his gaze away from the broody wolf in front of him and glancing fleetingly around the loft. “I shouldn’t have told you any of this. I shouldn’t have come back. It was selfish. You were never supposed to know about this. You were supposed to move on and live your life. It would’ve been easier for everyone if I’d stayed away.”

Before Derek could disagree, before Lydia could scold him and change his mind, and before Scott could fix him with his puppy dog eyes, Stiles lips were against Derek’s and he was gone. The kiss was sudden and unexpected in the face of their heated disagreement and Derek was left stunned in a silent loft, desperately looking around in search of Stiles. After a few minutes, everyone seemed to snap out of their stupor. Derek was left standing with a blank expression of confusion mixed with delight on his face and a hand touching his lips as if it were possible to feel Stiles presence there despite his disappearing.

“What just happened?” Scott asked, looking around at everyone in search of answers.

“He can choose who sees him, remember?” Lydia sighed, glancing around as if half expecting Stiles to suddenly rematerialize. “He made it so we can’t.”

“He’s gone?” Scott voiced, making Derek’s eyes snap to the young wolf in dismay.

“He’s not gone.” Derek frowned, glaring at Scott for even suggesting such a thing.

His hand dropped to his side as he spoke, abandoning his lips still fresh with the slight chill of Stiles’ lips.

“He’s a dead man with supernatural abilities. He could be anywhere right now. Hell, he might not even be among the living.” Lydia frowned, ever the voice of reason.

“We’ll get him back.” Derek insisted, moving for the door.

Scott and Isaac jumped up to follow, as did Lydia after a roll of her eyes.

“Where are we going?” Scott asked, walking faster in order to keep up.

“Deaton’s.” Derek returned, not bothering to turn to face the others as he did so.

“Are we just going to ignore the fact Stiles kissed Derek?” Isaac asked incredulously as he jogged to catch up to the rest.

 

* * *

 

 

“You want me to locate someone who’s dead?” Deaton arched a brow, as if the idea was infinitely amusing.

“Not someone. Stiles.” Scott huffed with a frown.

“Sorry but there’s nothing I can do.” Deaton shrugged with raised brows.

Derek growled, a vicious, feral sound that promised endless pain to anyone unfortunate enough to hear it.

“I didn’t say there’s nothing _you_ can do.” Deaton clarified, ignoring Derek’s aggressiveness and seeming almost amused by their obliviousness.

“Explain.” Derek demanded with another growl.

“If Stiles is really connected to the other side as you say, all you need to do is ask someone on the other side.” Deaton explained, as if it should be obvious.

Deaton’s eyes came to rest on Lydia and quickly every other pair of eyes did the same. Lydia glanced around, a horrified expression flashing over her features as realization dawned.

“Oh no.” Lydia shook her head, adamantly refusing. “I’m not that in control yet. I can’t.”


	8. Gone in a Flash

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Enjoy!

“Lydia has been training with Stiles. She should have no problem communicating with the other side.” Deaton explained, glancing calmly around the room at the blank faces staring back at him. “Your bond with him should provide an anchor to him on the other side that you can use to track him.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea.” Lydia argued, shaking her head and folding her arms defiantly. “Stiles says the other side can be dangerous.”

“Well Stiles isn’t here.” Derek huffed, narrowing his eyes challengingly at the redhead. “Now put all that frolicking you’ve been doing with him to good use.”

Lydia pursed her lips, silently daring Derek to continue speaking so callously. He remained silent but his face spoke volumes, his eyes holding a dark resentment as his brows shot up in accusation.

“Fine.” Lydia bit after a few moments of adamant refusal in which the vein in Derek’s neck threatened to rupture in his desperate attempt to remain calm.

Deaton sat her on the steel operating table, her legs dangling off the edge and making her feel even more like a child as her feet couldn’t touch the floor. Her knuckles quickly turned white as she clutched the table’s edge, exhaling deeply and closing her eyes to focus. After a few minutes passed by in complete silence Derek exhaled in frustration and Lydia’s eyes snapped open to fix him with a furious glare.

“I have an idea, why don’t you sit on the table and listen to the dead and I’ll take a turn criticizing?” Lydia snapped, her jaw clenched in fury.

“I’d probably do a better job!” Derek barked back in dark sarcasm.

“You want to communicate with the other side so bad? Hand me that scalpel and I’ll send you there myself!” Lydia returned, eyes narrowed and voice eerily calm despite its murderous intent.

“Perhaps her bond is not yet powerful enough to get a lock.” Deaton pondered aloud in mild confusion before Derek could retort and escalate the argument further. ”I assumed you would have no problem seeing as Stiles loves you.”

Both Lydia and Derek stopped their quarrel and fell into silence, a new kind of tension falling over the room and making Deaton glance around in ever growing bewilderment. Derek’s face was pulled into a displeased scowl that made Lydia almost amused at how childish the broody wolf could be.

“It’s not me he loves.” Lydia sighed as Deaton’s eyes came to rest on her in silent questioning.

Her gaze fixed on Derek and he squirmed under the weight of it as the rest of the pack and Deaton came to stare at him as well. His face quickly pulled into a scowl, masking the embarrassment evident under the dark expression.

“I see.” Deaton spoke, breaking the heavy silence and defusing the tense surprise on every pack member’s face.

Lydia rolled her eyes at their obliviousness. Once again she was the only one perceptive enough to realize Stiles feelings. The wolves weren’t exactly sharp when it came to emotional problems, but even with Stiles having kissed Derek they expertly avoided recognizing the truth. Stiles loved Derek, as much as they hated to admit it.

“In that case there is a solution.” Deaton announced, beckoning Derek over to the operating table to stand in front of Lydia who glared harshly at him in response. “Derek will be your tether.”

Derek and Lydia both gaped at him in disbelief with looks that screamed _this-is-a-horrible-idea_.

“Stiles and Derek’s emotional bond will act as an anchor.” Deaton explained, ignoring Derek as he shifted uncomfortably at his words. “Their connection will help you focus the voices and locate him. Think of it as an invisible string connecting them that you are going to follow.”

Derek and Lydia locked eyes and frowned at one another, a silent battle for dominance, before Lydia snatched his hand and slammed her eyes shut once more. It took only a few short moments before she was cringing under the deafening volume of a hundred voices shouting at once. Derek stayed statuesquely still, as if afraid even the slightest movement would break her connection and lose Stiles forever. When her eyes finally opened she hopped off the operating table so fast Derek had to stumble out of her way or be knocked over.

Her heels clicked loudly across the floor of the clinic before she was out the door and the pack was scrambling to follow her.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why are we in a park?” Scott asked, glancing around at the seemingly empty playground.

“Someone’s going to die.” Lydia mumbled in response, earning incredulous and more than a little concerned looks from the pack.

“We’re looking for Stiles not a dead body.” Derek growled.

“Technically the same thing.” Isaac cleared his throat with a small cough in an attempt to break the tension.

The park was dark, a single streetlamp the only thing illuminating the empty playground in the shadowy evening. Around the playground was a large expanse of forest, the manicured shrubbery and gardens quickly blending into unkempt natural growth extending for miles. Eventually the park became the preserve, but frankly no one wanted to have to search all night in dark isolation if at all avoidable.

Lydia slowly turned around, spinning in place while glancing at the treetops.

“This is no time for dancing.” Derek ground out, watching her in sheer irritation.

“There.” Lydia pointed, spotting the smoke rising above the treetops and fading into the dark evening sky.

In an instant the wolves were off, sprinting towards the source of the smoke and desperately trying not to trip on anything as they ran. Scott was the first to stumble out of the brush and into a small campsite, Derek close behind. A woman was collapsed on the ground, dirty and swollen, and Derek could tell even from a distance that she had passed. Stiles was standing over her, scythe in hand ready to strike her.

“Stiles.” Scott called before Derek had a chance.

Stiles hesitated for a moment before he lowered the scythe and cut the woman as he’d done the man in the alley, leaving a large gash across her torso. He didn’t even glance towards the pack standing at the edge of the campsite.

“Stiles. We can see you.” Scott pressed, reaching an arm out to stop Derek as he tried to take a step forwards.

“Old habits die hard.” Stiles returned, not turning to face them but at least acknowledging they were there. “I’m busy.”

A ball of light rose from the gash in the woman’s chest and floated above her body, casting an unsettling glow on the otherwise dark campsite before it molded into a female figure.

“Don’t be like that.” Scott pleaded.

A shadowy black mass began extending from Stiles’ body once more, looming over him from behind and shrouding him in an unnerving cloud of darkness. Before the pack could speak any further the black figure was wrapped around him and the woman’s soul and they were beginning to fade from view. Just before they vanished entirely, Derek lunged forwards and dove directly into the black mass, disappearing along with Stiles and leaving nothing behind but a cold female body, again with no hint of a wound inflicted by a scythe.


	9. Purgatory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go.

Derek blinked, his eyes coming into focus in a heavy wave of nausea that made him wince. It took a few moments for things to stop spinning but once they did his usual broody frown turned into frantic shock. Gone was the park, in its place a vast expanse of nothingness extended in every direction. It was neither dark nor light, making it impossible to know how much time had passed, and everything was tinged unsettling shades of red and black, reminding him of an ominous sunset.

He blinked a few more times, a part of him hoping his eyes were playing tricks on him, before slowly rising to his feet.

“Do you have any idea what you’ve done?” Stiles demanded, making Derek whirl around to find him standing with his arms crossed and his face pulled into a deep scowl.

Derek didn’t answer, still not completely sure where he was or what was going on. Instead he glanced around from the corner of his eye, searching for anything recognizable to tell him where he was.

“The living are forbidden from coming to the other side!” Stiles continued in a harsh shout before exhaling deeply and dragging his hand down his face. “I can’t bring you home. You’ve trapped yourself in purgatory.”

“Purgatory?” Derek repeated, his voice tinged with confusion strongly overshadowed by concern.

“Yes, Purgatory.” Stiles rolled his eyes, his jaw setting into a hard line. “You’re not dead. But being here means you’re not technically alive either. You’re stuck.”

“How do I get unstuck?” Derek asked, cramming his hands into the pockets of his leather jacket and fixing Stiles with a look of determination.

“You have to convince Death to let you go.” Stiles answered, his scowl deepening even further.

Stiles sighed deeply and cracked his neck before beginning to walk. Derek watched him for a brief moment before jogging to catch up to his side.

“Where are we going?” Derek asked, eyeing Stiles as they walked.

“To see Death.” Stiles answered, before turning to look up at Derek with pursed lips and knitted brows. “What were you thinking?”

Derek looked back at him before wincing and fixing his eyes on the ground. A long silence passed between them as they walked before Derek finally raised his eyes back to Stiles and spoke in a meek voice.

“I couldn’t lose you again.” Derek admitted, surveying Stiles’ face as he spoke to try and gauge his reaction. “You died in my arms. I thought I’d never see you again after that. I couldn’t forgive myself if I let you go again without a fight.”

Stiles glanced back at him, his expression softening from a scowl to a look of tenderness mixed with confusion. Derek placed a hand on his shoulder, stopping him completely and making him look sideways to avoid Derek’s burning eyes.

“Stiles. Look at me.” Derek insisted, lightly grabbing Stiles’ chin and bringing his face forward so their eyes were locked.

Stiles looked up at him, eyes filled with worry and mild fear as Derek quickly closed the space between them and planted a kiss on Stiles’ lips. The kiss was chaste, Stiles frozen in shock at Derek’s soft lips pressed against his and his warm breath tickling his skin. Just as Stiles’ hands found their way to Derek’s broad chest, the kiss was over and Derek was peering down at him with arousal filled eyes.

“I love you.” Derek spoke softly, as if afraid to say the words. “I didn’t tell you before you died. I thought I had more time and then just like that you were gone. I couldn’t let that happen again.”

“So all that about me being dead. About you looking for a cure?” Stiles trailed off, the unspoken question hanging between them.

“I didn’t want to face it.” Derek sighed, pulling Stiles against his chest in a tight embrace. “It was my own fault I never told you and then you were gone. When you came back all I wanted was another chance. I guess I used bringing back your life as a way to return us to a time my chance to confess wasn’t ripped away. Before I allowed myself to accept your death. I just wanted to bring us back to the time before everything changed.”

“I love you too.” Stiles breathed into Derek’s chest, nuzzling his face against his hard muscles and closing his eyes as if to prevent tears from falling.

Derek carded his hand through Stiles hair and guided his head back from his chest. In an instant their lips were together again, this time in a passionate kiss, uninhibited by regret or fear, and a buzzing excitement was sparking between them. The kiss only ended when Derek had to pull away for air and the two were left panting, mere inches apart, with swollen lips and hooded eyes.

“Things have changed.” Stiles spoke, his lust filled eyes fading into a hard stare. “Whether for better or worse, things are different. I’m dead, and now you’re stuck here. I love you but you can’t stay here. It’s dangerous.”

 

* * *

 

 

An enormous castle sat in the distance, an ominous black fog sweeping around it and making it vanish and reappear every so often. Stiles stopped walking, inhaling then exhaling deeply as if steeling himself for some unseen horror before squaring his shoulders and moving forwards with a newfound determination.

“It’s quiet.” Derek mumbled, glancing around uneasily as they approached.

“No one comes here unless they have to.” Stiles replied, the castle growing closer with each step. “It’s dangerous, even for the dead.”

The black fog rolled over the castle once more and Stiles stopped, waiting for it to reappear before moving forward to enter. Four beasts snarled viciously at them, barring their path with razor sharp fangs and flared nostrils. Stiles didn’t falter, despite the snapping of the animal’s jaws at them, simply continued forward, lazily carding his hand through one of the beast’s fur as he passed.

Derek followed, eyeing the beasts wearily. They were large, larger than any animal he’d ever encountered, supernatural or otherwise. All four were black, claws sunk into the ground beneath their paws and fangs bared in harsh warning. Their eyes all glowed red, an unsettling bloody color that followed them with acute awareness as they passed. Their fur was up on their backs, their ears were pressed flat to their heads, and they were drooling, reminding Derek of feral wolves, bloodthirsty and irrational. He inched past them, close behind Stiles, his wolf on edge in the face of such overpowering animalistic savagery.

“Hellhounds.” Stiles explained once they were inside. “Death’s servants. They protect his domain and ensure no souls escape back to the side of the living. One bite from them and you’re gone.”

“You’re already dead.” Derek arched a brow, confused by Stiles’ explanation.

“Their bite is dangerous to souls, dead or not. One bite and you’re in oblivion. Your soul ceases to exist on either side. Not living, not dead, you simply no longer exist.” Stiles elaborated, stopping in front of an elaborate door.

The door was iron, huge and intricately crafted to look as though people were pressing their faces and hands through the hard iron in a desperate attempt to escape whatever lay beyond it. Stiles pushed the door open and strode through with fearless defiance, not so much as a knock to announce their intentions to enter.

“Stiles.” A cold, hollow voice echoed through the oversized room, sending icy shivers across Derek’s skin.

On the far side of the room was a throne, high off the ground and intricately carved similarly to the door. Atop the throne was a being, not human, peering down at them with an unreadable expression. It’s form flowed and shifted, forever changing and making it impossible for Derek to interpret what it was.

It was black, with no arms or legs that Derek could see, only a head and a flowing black mass of a body resting upon the throne. The head was expressionless, no face to be seen, in its place a twisted black expanse of hollowed nothingness that chilled Derek’s blood as if he were staring into an abyss. The form of its body was undistinguishable, seemingly nothing but an overabundance of flowing black robes, tattered and disappearing into a black entity that ebbed and flowed around them as if an ebony pool being manipulated by its being.

“I don’t remember summoning you.” The cold, piercing voice continued to speak, ringing in Derek’s ears painfully as if slowly carving out the inside of his head. “Finally ready to accept my offer?”

“Please return this man to the living plain.” Stiles requested firmly, ignoring Death’s question. “His time isn’t up. He doesn’t belong here.”

Death turned his attention to Derek, the abyss where his face should be boring into Derek as if extracting his soul with icy, boney hands.

“Ah yes.” Death purred, an inhuman, bloodcurdling sound that made Derek’s ears ring and skin crawl. “The infamous Derek.”

In an instant Death was off his throne and standing before them, having billowed into a stream of thick black smoke to dismount his intricate seat and suddenly reformed into a much more human like figure standing before them. An unsettling mask was now covering the dark abyss of his face, a twisted expression of anguish seared into it with nothing but black expanses of eyes peering through from behind the iron covering.

Derek peered back, using every ounce of his will power to mask his fear and push down the overpowering desire to run far from the thing making his wolf claw at his insides in a desperate attempt to escape.

“The wolf a Reaper sacrificed his life for.” Death’s hollow voice echoed as he leaned in close to Derek’s face to peer deep into his eyes. “The one living on borrowed time.”

“Not borrowed. Gifted.” Stiles scowled, drawing Death’s attention to him.

In another plume of black smoke Death was standing before Stiles, even more human than before. This time with half a human face visible under the iron mask, his visible eye narrowed at Stiles in silent threatening. Stiles didn’t even flinch, simply narrowed his own eyes in response earning an amused, twisted grin from Death.

“I won’t save him.” Death announced, his grin widening to reveal razor sharp teeth in his mouth that effectively ruined any humanlike façade.


	10. Dangerous Bargains

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The end for now. Subscribe for a part 2 to come soon! Let me know your thoughts.

Derek frowned, clearly angered by Death’s refusal to return him to his rightful place among the living, but refusing to say anything to worsen the situation.

“He should have been dead long ago.” Death’s voice rang though the room as he tilted his head to the side with his toothy grin. “With his death the balance is restored.”

“We had a deal.” Stiles hissed through gritted teeth, hands clenched into white-knuckled fists. “My life for his. This isn’t balance it’s theft.”

Death’s grin didn’t falter as he moved closer to Stiles so their faces were mere inches apart and the black smoke billowing from his robes rolled over Stiles as well as himself.

“Accept my offer Stiles.” Death purred, a human hand appearing from beneath the flowing, unnatural robes and tracing the outline of Stiles’ face without actually touching his flesh. “Accept me and I will save him. We both know what happens to him if he remains here.”

At that Derek finally found it in him to move. As quickly as possible Stiles was pulled behind Derek’s body, placing himself between Death and the man he loved. He narrowed his eyes at Death defiantly, a silent promise dancing between them of a bloody battle should Stiles be harmed.

“I don’t need to be saved.” Derek announced, maintaining his narrowed glare at Death but speaking to Stiles still shielded behind him. “I wont let you sacrifice yourself for me a second time.”

Death chuckled, a dark, cringe-inducing sound that reminded Derek of nails down a chalkboard, and returned to his throne in another plume of billowing smoke, all human features disappearing into the black expanse of nothingness that had originally been its face.

“You don’t understand.” Stiles warned, stepping out from behind Derek with a concerned look. “If you stay here you’ll remain in purgatory. The worst parts of your life will replay over and over on an endless loop until you’re driven mad with guilt and pain. The fire. Boyd’s death. The girl that died in you arms under the Nemeton. All of it will haunt you for eternity.”

An intense fear flashed over Derek’s face before he managed to push it down under a steely mask of defiant determination.

“It doesn’t matter.” Derek replied with a taught jaw. “Those things already replay in my mind every day. I won’t let you become his plaything.”

Death’s chuckle once again rang through the room, the sound bouncing off the walls and lingering in the air like some sort of uncomfortable punishment for Derek’s declaration.

“How naïve.” Death spoke, watching them from his place on the throne.

“If you save him I’ll accept you.” Stiles announced loudly, stepping towards Death and away from Derek despite Derek’s growl of protest and his hand on Stiles’ shoulder trying to hold him back.

A moment of tense silence flooded over the room before Death once again dismounted the throne in a trail of smoke and reformed mere inches from Derek’s face.

“What is so special about this dog that you would sacrifice yourself for him twice?” Death demanded in a chilling snarl.

“No.” Derek adamantly refused, stepping away from Death and shaking Stiles with a hand on each of his shoulders, as if the movement could somehow change his mind. “You’re not doing this.”

“You would stand in the way of me getting something I’ve been seeking?” Death asked, making Derek whirl around and once again hold Stiles in place behind him protectively.

Death’s shrill chuckle once again filled the air, amused by Derek’s unyielding bravado.

“Very well.” Death announced firmly, disappearing and reforming on his throne once more. “I will allow you passage to the living plain in exchange for you becoming one of my Hellhounds.”

“No!” Stiles leapt out from behind Derek in frantic rebuttal.

“You will protect Stiles while on the living plain and I will monitor your relationship and have access to Stiles when need be.” Death continued, ignoring Stiles’ protests in favor of Derek.

“He’s not your slave!” Stiles shouted, desperately trying to prevent their bargain.

“You will recollect souls who manage to escape this domain and send them to their oblivion if so instructed.” Death finished, his bloodcurdling voice daring Derek to refuse his offer.

“I’ll do it.” Derek nodded, fists clenched and jaw set in determined challenge.

“Very well.” Death chuckled, a sound even more piercing than before, and Derek fell into unconsciousness under the shrill noise, sure his hearing was permanently ruined under the deafening screech.

 

* * *

 

 

Derek woke in the park, his blurred vision quickly clearing to reveal trees looming over him and blowing in the afternoon breeze. The sun was high in the sky and he cringed under its blinding rays, squinting and sitting up from where he’d been lying in the dirt.

He glanced around, spotting Stiles leaning against a nearby tree with a deep scowl on his face. A large man was looming over him, one arm planted on the tree behind Stiles so as to pin him between the trunk and his body. Derek growled and sprung to his feet baring his teeth aggressively at the man and reeling slightly when he noticed his wolf felt darker, more feral and less controllable than before.

The man chuckled, an unnatural sound of nails on a chalkboard that made Derek freeze and Stiles’ scowl deepen.

“It’s only a matter of time before you become mine Stiles.” Death grinned, razor sharp teeth in place of the human ones that should have been there. “Remember our deal, dog. Protect what is mine.” He trailed his fingers down Stiles’ jaw with a twisted smile. “Pet’s who don’t listen to their masters are put down.”

With that Death vanished in a familiar plume of black smoke, leaving Stiles and Derek standing in the park where they’d originally crossed over together.

 

* * *

 

 

The second Stiles and Derek got within twenty feet of the high school the pack was running frantically out the front doors, practically tripping over one another to reach them. Stiles and Derek are quickly buried under a pile of werewolves, whining like lost puppies finally finding their home.

“Where have you been?” Lydia demanded in a shaky voice filled with relief. “It’s been months with no word!”

Derek’s face twisted into shocked confusion as he glanced at Stiles who shrugged and mumbled “Time passes differently on the other side.”

The pack quickly left the school, not wanting prying eyes or teacher interruptions for their reunion. The second the door to Derek’s loft closed behind them everyone began spewing a million questions, resulting in a garbled incoherent sound of overlapping words and shrill voices.

Stiles and Derek quickly explained everything, from arriving on the other side to their confessions to one another to their encounter with Death and Derek’s new place as a Hellhound. The pack listen intently, their expressions shifting from irritation to joy to concerned anger as the story unfolded. When the story reached its end the pack began frantically asking questions to which Derek sighed and shook his head. After a few moments of heated arguing Derek managed to evict the pack from his loft and lock the door behind them, leaving only him and a confused Stiles standing in the loft.

“What are-“ Stiles began, only to be cut off by Derek scooping him up and slinging him over his shoulder.

“I can’t wait anymore.” Derek growled, a deep rumble that sent tingles over Stiles’ skin and made him flush.

Derek quickly hauled Stiles upstairs and dumped him on the bed, pulling off his shirt and falling atop him, his muscles rippling as he held himself over his lover.

“Never do that again.” Derek growled, kissing Stiles’ neck and marring his flesh with hickeys.

“What?” Stiles panted, writhing under Derek’s touch and the intensity of his kisses.

“Never offer yourself to another man.” Derek growled, tearing Stiles’ shirt off his body and speckling his torso with hickeys.

“Technically he’s not a man.” Stiles chuckled sarcastically, earning a dark growl from Derek and a rough kiss that effectively silenced him.

Stiles kissed him back, deepening their connection and trailing his hands down Derek’s muscular sides until he found the waist of his jeans. Soon Derek’s jeans were tossed across the room, Stiles following close behind, and both were left panting and grinding in nothing but their boxers.

Derek growled, quickly removing Stiles’ boxers and grabbing a bottle of lube from the nightstand. Stiles flinched as the cold liquid made contact with his skin, before he began to writhe under the sensation of Derek’s fingers slowly pushing inside him. One, then two, then three and soon Stiles was panting and clutching at the sheets to steady his writhing body. Stiles groaned in protest as Derek removed his fingers, feeling suddenly empty and unfulfilled, until Derek’s cock replaced with an agonizingly slow thrust that sent him reeling in blinding pleasure.

Stiles moaned, the thrusting growing faster as Derek became more and more lost in the sensation of being inside the man he’d been pining after for so long. Derek’s back was quickly marred with scratch marks, as their connection grew deeper and more intense, until finally Derek was spilling into Stiles and Stiles was gasping at the white-hot pleasure coursing through him as he followed close behind.

They both collapse, panting and sticky, into a tight embrace as they revel in what had just occurred between them. And what would undoubtedly occur several more times in the very near future.


End file.
